As his COVID-19 symptoms worsen, it’s disappointing to hear news that UK prime minister Boris Johnson’d been transferred into an Intensive Care Unit (ICU) had been greeted with glee by a toxic section of this nation’s populace.

Their lack of humanity towards a man whose crime is not to share their ideology, giving an early indication that perhaps this dreadful global episode won’t thaw the darkest of hearts. Vitriol which’s made me conclude this last few weeks in the shadow of this pathogen has displayed the very worst, along with the best of our natives behavioural traits.

I’m not party to how other world governments intend to deal with patient medical care costs. However, as the medical treatment in the UK is gratis via our NHS, any of my disaffected countryman spouting vitriol at this juncture should display an element of contrition in view of how bloody lucky they’ll be if they contract COVID-19.

I’m acquainted with many individuals who find the politics of Boris Johnson’s party abhorrent. However, I’d wager none of those folk would maliciously wish a man to pass away because of ideological differences. Delivered from the safety of a cowardly keyboard warrior, or otherwise.

I’m writing this prose from the dining room of my mother’s home; a West Yorkshire residence which’s my current fixed abode. I’m looking out at the garden which this afternoon I spruced up by re-aligning the pyracantha whose weight, in conjunction with gravitational forces, were despatching the evergreen shrub towards terra firma……  Unfortunately that tale doesn’t get any more interesting, consequently I’ll move on with haste!


It’s my birthday in a few weeks, meaning I’ve been in receipt of recent enquiries as to which gifts would enhance my birth anniversary in lockdown…. On hearing this, I’ve got to admit yours truly never thought I’d experience a life event where the top two entries on my present list were a multipack of toilet roll and a batch of hand sanitiser!

My mum, who is the person I’ll be celebrating my birthday with, has suggested we should make it a special occasion. Going on to suggest she’d purchase a cake to mark the anniversary of my arrival on this dysfunctional planet.

As mater’s in the high risk group for contracting the disease, she’s required to self-isolate. A fact I pointing out, adding she couldn’t buy  me a birthday cake under current quarantine conditions. An observation which led to her enthusiastic response of “Don’t worry, Gary…. I’ll fry you a Victoria sponge.“….. The conversation to firm up plans to celebrate my birthday ended at that juncture!

As I write with dining room door ajar, a couple of estate dogs are involved in a bark fest. Not possessing the animal conversational interpretation skills of Doctor Dolittle, I’m unable to comprehend the nature of this canine exchange.

With flight of fancy, I’d have loved it to have been one of the woofers telling the other “Have you heard the latest gossip?… That poor bloke at number 26 is having to rely on a fried Victoria sponge for a birthday cake!!”